


I Have Blood So I Must Bleed

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Betrayal, Self-Hatred, me? having shield breakup feels? in 2019? it's more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 05:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: "I always thought it would be me."





	I Have Blood So I Must Bleed

“I always thought it would be me.”

Dean’s voice is a jagged, broken thing, crawling its way out of his mouth before hanging in the air. The room is quiet, other than the words, other than the sound of his wet breathing, other than the sound of Roman’s heart hammering in his chest the way it always seems to nowadays.

“What?” Roman asks. He knows what, or at least, he thinks he knows, but he isn’t going to assume, not about this. He has to hear Dean say it, has to hear Dean acknowledge what’s been sitting on his chest like a 250-pound weight, the things that’s been carving them both up from the inside.

“Y’know. Se-.” His words die in a shattered, desperate sound. “Rollins. Never would’ve guessed he’d crack first. Always thought it’d be me.” Dean doesn’t look up from his hands, furiously and sloppily unraveling his hand tape to redo it. 

It’s the first time either of them has talked about it. They’ve brought it up in the ring, because they have to, but here, in locker rooms and hotel rooms, in the endless stretches of highway they seem to live on? Never. Roman hasn’t even entertained the idea in the three long weeks.

“Dean, how can you…?” Roman can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. His voice is breathy, torn, too quiet, betrays too much and not enough at the same time. He doesn’t intend to sound condescending, or judgmental, or harsh, and he’s too distraught to bother figuring out if he does. He can feel the spine-shattering impact of steel against bone vividly.

Dean abandons his tape and rips the half-finished wrappings from his palm angrily. He yanks his shirt off, tosses it down in a pile with the tape rolls and his bag. He paces, footsteps heavy with the weight of all his emotions. One hand fists into his own hair and tugs, the other slamming into the wall with a sick thud.

“Don’t act like you don’t know, Reigns. I ain’t exactly operating at full capacity.” Dean releases his hair momentarily to knock a knuckle unkindly against the side of his skull before his fingers dig in again. “I'm fucked up, I’m not all here, I’m. I’m a wild animal they shoved into a home knowing full well I’d end up bringing everything down with me.”

Roman finds himself unable to look away from Dean’s back. It’s been three weeks, but the ugly bruises are still painted across his skin. Hard lines and welts criss-cross his skin, staining the skin yellow and purple. The bruises stand out against the old scars, against the deep divots dug out by barbed wire and glass. They only serve to make the preexisting marks look that much more gruesome.

Roman's heart breaks a little in his chest. He'd thought it had been shattered the second he felt the first chairshot land, thought he could never hurt in the way Rollins made him. He'd been wrong, apparently, because hearing Dean speak like this, seeing the rage and disappointment and shame hardening the line of Dean's shoulders, watching his best friend, his only friend self destruct causes something fragile in his chest snap. It's a visceral, bone-deep pain that radiates down to his brainstem, something so different from the physical damage caused by Rollins that it's almost comforting.

"If it makes you feel any better," Roman's voice is still exposed, aching, his throat too dry to speak around, "I had faith in you." It doesn't feel like the right thing to say, but he knows it's the best he's going to get out of his panicked brain. He doubts there even is a right thing to say in this situation.

Dean's answering laugh is an unpleasant sound, raw and bleeding. It sounds like it hurts, both to hear and to make, like it's all fork tines and light tubes. Suddenly, he sounds and looks all the world like he's still some broken, bruised homeless kid killing himself every night just to make a paycheck. His skin looks too clean without the crimson of blood.

"That makes one of us, I guess." His voice is wet, cracking like he's trying to hold back tears. Roman has to scream at how wrong that is; Dean Ambrose doesn't cry, Dean Ambrose isn't weak, Dean Ambrose is not a vulnerable person. Roman is struck, not for the first time, with the terrifyingly strong urge to punch Rollins' teeth down his throat.

Dean doesn't react to Roman's hug, but he doesn't pull away either, so at least it's something.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cherry-mox on Tumblr! Come bug me!


End file.
